the Huntington Hotel. Dark wood, green leather on the stools and chairs, and leaded glass was around for the turn of two centuries.
âBuy you a beer?â Lang asked before he saw that Vanderveer was nursing a glass of something stronger in front of him.
âHave no use for it. If youâre going to drink, drink something real or donât drink at all.â
âI thought you by-the-good-book Christians had strict rules against the consumption of alcohol,â Lang said, sitting on the stool next to the man from Grand Rapids.
âWe do,â he said, sipping his Scotch. âIâm in San Francisco, though, the land of murder, drugs, kidnapping, and illicit sex. My sin is definitely minor.â
âNo drugs, murder, and kidnapping in Grand Rapids?â Vanderveer didnât answer. âYou miss it?â
âWhat?â
âMichigan.â
âIâd rather be there, if thatâs what you mean.â
âYou have a big place, donât you?â
âYes. I grew up there. It was my fatherâs home, my grandfatherâs as well.â
âWoods, lake.â Lang wanted to test the truth of his Google Earth tour. âI bet it was great growing up there.â
âWonderful place to grow up. Fishing. Hunting. Autumn. The air. The smell. Yes, you knew there was a God. How else could that world have come about?â
Lang ordered a shot of tequila, which he sipped in the silence.
âWill we get him back?â Mr. Vanderveer asked.
âIf I were forced to put money on it, Iâd say no.â
âThen why are we doing this? Iâm just throwing away a million dollarsâworse, giving it to some undeserving . . .â
âYou have to do it or you couldnât live with yourself. Maybe we can get a line on the kidnappers, some glimpse, some piece of the trail to follow. We have nothing now. Maybe we find Michael or we find the person to punish.â Lang wasnât sure the man was listening. Wouldnât blame him if he werenât. âIâm obliged to tell you the police will be at the stadium tomorrow afternoon.â
The man nodded, looked away.
âThe Vanderveer furniture business died on my watch. The name means little anymore, and less and less as the years go by.â He took a sip. âIt should have been something the boys carried on.â There was a long silence. âIâm not complaining. I have more than I need, perhaps more than I should. But of course thatâs not the point.â
âBetter save some brain cells for tomorrow,â Lang said.
âIâm not sure I have much use for them anymore,â Vanderveer said. He turned on his seat so he could face Lang completely. âYouâre not a religious man, are you, Mr. Lang?â
âNo. Guess not.â
âHow do you do that?â
âWhat?â
âGet through the day without belief in God.â
âGotta get through the day whether thereâs a god or not.â
 * * *Â
Tomorrow would be an important day. Lang wanted the hours before bedtime to be hours of escape. Buddha was giving his roommate the âI donât know youâ punishment for being gone so long. Even fresh food and water didnât warm up the atmosphere. Lang didnât blame him. Buddhaâs world was limited to four walls and a high ceiling. Having a human wandering the space offered at least some entertainment.
Lang was relieved that he didnât have to cook, which also meant that there would be no need to clean up the kitchen. He could coast through the evening with a good movie, a slice or two of cheese, and some spirits, and drift off to sleep and face a do-or-die day when he woke up.
The problem was that his cluttered mind didnât permit him a smooth descent into sleep. He couldnât figure out how the kidnappers were going to do it. It was brilliant to pick up the bonds at a sold-out baseball game.
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